Death Wish
by silverthorned
Summary: Set during "Crush" but very AU after Spike walks in to find Drusilla. Death comes in many ways, sometimes with a choice.
1. Death Wish

Title: Death Wish  
Author: silverthorned  
Rating: R  
Category: Spike/Buffy  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, creator.  
Summary: Set during "Crush" but very AU after Spike walks in to  
find Drusilla. Death comes in many ways, sometimes with a  
choice.  
Note: I know this has been done before, but I hope you enjoy  
my take on it. For everyone who has checked out my website,  
the stories I'm posting here at ff.net are almost the same.  
I've taken the liberty of updating and correcting them as I   
post here.  
  
*  
  
She was once so beautiful to me, with her dark hair, her heart-  
shaped face, her tilted eyes. She is a broken girl in a woman's  
body. I can still remember the feel of her breasts, the taste of  
her mouth, the smell of her skin, like rose petals dried in the  
sun, dead and warm.  
  
So black and lovely, the only one who saw me, and I loved her so  
much, that every night, I would gaze at her, sleeping, and wonder  
why she chose me. She was my salvation from a life of rejection.  
She gave me courage, fearlessness, and love, a love that was  
never entirely mine.  
  
She left me.  
  
I hated her for it, with even more passion than I'd loved her  
with.  
  
I knew the moment I walked in that she was here. I could smell  
the brash scent of the undead rose and the subtle scent of her,  
my dead one.  
  
I wanted to take her, crush her lips with all the intensity and  
fierceness of the hate I felt. I wanted to make her moan, make  
her come, and then kill her, watch her dust cover my hands, but  
I couldn't do it. Over one hundred and twenty years of memories  
wouldn't let me do it.  
  
She said, "I have a gift for you, my William."  
  
Then I smelled it, blood, fresh, human and on the verge of death.  
There was something strange in the blood itself. It was...sweet  
and spicy, heady and intoxicating.  
  
I stared at Dru in horror.  
  
"How?"  
  
"I called her and she came, little kitten to be petted. I  
brought her for you, she can be yours now, all you have to do is  
save her."  
  
She moved aside, and I could see Buffy, blood all around her.  
  
I couldn't move, and although I knew I should take her to a  
hospital, I also knew she wouldn't make it there.  
  
Drusilla had moved closer to me and she took my limp wrist in her  
hand.  
  
"Make her drink, Spike."  
  
I looked down and saw she had sliced my wrist open. Cold blood  
sluggishly dripped to the floor.  
  
I looked her straight in the eyes.  
  
"Why, Dru?"  
  
"They said it's what you want, what you need. My dance is done  
and hers has begun."  
  
Blood still dripped. Drusilla didn't blink.  
  
I stepped to Buffy, knelt and offered her my wrist. I felt sure  
that what little consciousness she had left would rebel, so I  
didn't force. She would make the choice for me. Her eyes  
focused on mine, glazed, and then they went suddenly clear.  
  
I saw something I'd only seen twice before, in the eyes of two  
women--the gratitude of relinquishing a spent life.  
  
I saw her death wish.  
  
She started to drink.  
  
I shut my eyes. 


	2. Waiting

Disclaimers in part one.  
  
Part 2: Waiting  
  
*  
  
When she was finished, I picked her up, cradling her body in my  
arms. Her head lolled back, limply. She felt so light in my  
arms, as if her soul had already fled. I could hear her heart  
beating more faintly, her breath fading, and in the few seconds  
it took to lay her down on the tomb, her body died.  
  
She would have looked like Sleeping Beauty, if it weren't for all  
the blood. I pushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across  
her face.  
  
Dru hadn't made a sound.  
  
I hissed at her, "Bring her someone, now. Once you've done that,  
I want you to leave."  
  
She left, silently.  
  
I sank down into my chair, head in my hands. I barely noticed  
when she came back, except to see that the young girl she brought  
was unconscious, and unbitten.  
  
Drusilla said, "Spike."  
  
"I thought I told you to leave."  
  
"I can see. I can see what you want to do."  
  
I gritted my teeth, and stood up.  
  
"How can I make this any clearer? Just go. I never want to see  
you again."  
  
Her face grew tight with pain, but she pleaded, "Don't do it,  
please don't do it."  
  
I snapped.  
  
"Get out, you bloody witch! Just leave me alone!"  
  
"She wanted it, Spike. She wanted it, so let her have it."  
  
I turned my back on her.  
  
The door shut with a clang.  
  
There was no escaping what I needed to do.  
  
I took both girls to a place none of the Slayer's friends would  
find. I cleaned the crypt of her blood. For good measure I   
dusted a vamp next to the spot. Let them think what they would.  
  
I returned to where I'd left her. I held her hand. Even in  
false death, she was beautiful.  
  
I put my head down beside her hand, and whispered, "Why? Why  
me?" My voice fell dead into the silence.  
  
She didn't answer, but the answer would come, soon enough. So  
I waited and tried not to pray to gods who wouldn't hear. 


	3. Choosing

Disclaimers in part one.  
  
Part 3: Choosing  
  
*  
  
Buffy's demon was fiercely, gloriously stunning. She knew  
exactly what to do, and executed the kill with such finesse, the  
girl barely whimpered.  
  
This wasn't Buffy.  
  
Buffy had a soul, a sympathetic, do-no-evil soul.  
  
The one I fell in love with.  
  
This was a mistake, a very bad mistake.  
  
Her face melted back and her eyes turned from gold to confused  
green.  
  
She took one look at the body and then at me and screamed, a  
long, piercing, agonized shriek and crumpled, unconscious.  
  
I felt coldness on my face and when I touched it, my fingers came  
away wet.  
  
Tears. For what she was. For what she'd become.  
  
When she woke up, my face was dry.  
  
She sat up, drawing her legs close to her chest and stared at me,  
large eyes in a frightened face.  
  
I said, "I did what I thought best, you know."  
  
Her gaze didn't move from my face.  
  
My mouth tightened and I asked, "Did you want it?"  
  
She stood up.  
  
"Yes."  
  
I walked closer to her. She backed away, then stepped closer.  
  
"Do you still want it?"  
  
She came even closer, and placed her hand on my cheek. I  
resisted the urge to lean into it. She traced my scar with a  
finger, and then dragged her nails down, leaving blood behind.  
  
She whispered softly, mercilessly, "I hate you for making me. I  
will always hate you."  
  
I ignored that and leaned nearer, hissing, "You didn't answer the  
question."  
  
She turned her back on me. The line of it was defiant, but her  
hands trembled.  
  
Her voice was low, barely audible.  
  
"You said you loved me."  
  
"I do."  
  
She faced me again.  
  
"Then you would do anything for me." Her face was determined, no  
hint of caring.  
  
"Anything." She knew I meant it.  
  
"Even what you've wanted to do since we first met?"  
  
Not anymore, but if she asked....  
  
"Buffy--"  
  
"Don't call me that!"  
  
I blinked.  
  
"Then what, in all hell-gods' names, do you want to be called?"  
  
"Anything but that!" She was quivering, now, and all I wanted to  
do was hold her, tell her I loved her, anything to stop the  
inevitable conclusion to this mess.  
  
"Pick a name, love, any name. Tell me what you want."  
  
Her eyes were wet, but the tears weren't falling.  
  
"I want--" 


	4. A Quick Death

Disclaimers in part one. This is just a possible end to   
the series, not the true end.  
  
Part 4: A Quick Death  
  
*  
  
"I want...I want you to end this. I want to be your third."  
  
"I can't do it."  
  
She grabbed my shirt, and I saw a flash of the old Slayer.  
  
"You can, Spike, and when you do, I want you to tell my family,  
and my friends what you did, and why. You will accept whatever  
punishment they give you."  
  
"They'll kill me!"  
  
A feral light came into her eyes.  
  
"I know."  
  
"You relish this don't you, Slayer?"  
  
She smiled, sadistically, and placed her hands on the side of my  
neck, caressing my face with her thumbs. She was teasing me, her  
mouth centimeters from mine.  
  
She said softly, "Of course I do. It's the demon, makes me want  
to be cruel, be twisted. But it's not what you want, is it?"  
  
I watched her mouth, entranced.  
  
She slapped me.  
  
"Is it, Spike?"  
  
I grabbed her and crushed her mouth to mine.  
  
It was a violent union, all tongue and tooth. She struggled and  
bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood. She moaned when she  
tasted it and stopped struggling, and I, and I, fool that  
I was, broke away. I murmured against her mouth, told her I  
loved her, the sound humming between us.  
  
She pushed me away, and moved angrily past me. She scrabbled on  
the floor, searching for something. She found it and pushed it  
into my hand.  
  
A sliver of wood.  
  
"Do it, Spike. Put me out of my misery."  
  
Watching her dust settle I realized I didn't care anymore,  
whatever happened to me, however my life ended.  
  
I deserved whatever they gave me.  
  
I did what she asked.  
  
Joyce collapsed.  
  
Dawn screamed and beat me with ineffectual fists.  
  
Willow said nothing, but her eyes went dead.  
  
Tara turned her back on me and cradled her love.  
  
Anya said, "How could you?"  
  
Giles swore.  
  
Xander lashed out at me, violent tears streaking his face,  
leaving me bloody.  
  
Only he tied me to this tree.  
  
It is an hour until sunrise. 


	5. Slipping into Darkness

Disclaimers in part one.  
  
Part 5: Slipping Into Darkness  
  
*  
  
"Love, come in."  
  
She stands at the French doors of the balcony, just inside, in  
the shadows, looking out. Outside, the early morning sun is  
spreading over the city of London. I hover at her back, watching  
anxiously.  
  
She walked past me a few minutes ago, never looking at me, not  
saying a word. She'd gone hunting without me, all night.  
  
I'm trying to trust her, to let her out of my sight. I'm  
surprised she even came back.  
  
Please, not again, I plead silently.  
  
I step in front of her. She doesn't even acknowledge me.  
  
"Slayer."  
  
She blinks and says, "Just let me watch it, Spike." Her voice is  
flat, emotionless, weary.  
  
"Promise me, promise me, you'll come in." I know there is  
desperation in my voice, but I don't bloody care.  
  
She's torturing herself and all I can do is watch in pain.  
  
"I will, Spike."  
  
I go back inside and wait, in readiness.  
  
Sometimes she lies. Sometimes she waits until she collapses and  
I have to drag her in. She'll curl in on herself, lying on the  
floor, weeping until she sleeps.  
  
She isn't Drusilla, but she's just as broken.  
  
It was her choice.  
  
She said, five years ago, "I want to leave. I can't stay here  
now."  
  
I was ridiculously ready to please.  
  
"We'll go wherever you want."  
  
"You choose. I don't care."  
  
We left Sunnydale, her family and friends. It was so simple, so  
easy, and so incredibly cruel.  
  
Sometimes I think of how they all felt, what they said, how they  
grieved, but I never mention it to Buffy. She hates me enough as  
it is.  
  
We went to London. I'd had enough of the States, and she'd never  
been outside of them. We found a second-story flat there, long  
abandoned, and I tried to make it as comfortable for her as  
possible.  
  
She chose a name.  
  
I found her one night, soon after we arrived, in the British  
Museum, examining a statue. A woman, her bare form carved from a  
black stone. Her four arms were held out, holding a severed head  
in one, in another a sword. The others were empty. Around her  
waist was a garland of human skulls.  
  
Buffy turned to me and asked, "Who is she?"  
  
"She's the Hindu goddess of destruction and night. Kali, the  
dark one. Do you like her?"  
  
She tilted her head, pondering. She said, "She's what I've  
become."  
  
I kept silent.  
  
She touched the glass it was encased in, like a child, wanting to  
touch the object itself.  
  
Her gaze was fascinated.  
  
She said, "I want you to call me by her name."  
  
I can't call her that. I call her love, pet, Slayer. She seems  
to accept Slayer, not as an insult anymore, but as befitting what  
she is.  
  
She let her hair grow to her waist and dyed it black. Her skin  
has lost the golden tan it once had, and her eyes have sharpened  
to bright green. She doesn't look anything like Buffy, but then  
again I don't look anything like William.  
  
She's changed in the five years we've been together, but she  
hasn't lost what made me love her. I have to believe that, or  
these five years have meant nothing. I have to believe that she  
will eventually accept this life and me. I have to believe  
she'll learn to trust me. I have to believe she'll love me.  
  
I'm still waiting. I will wait as long as it takes. I have  
bloody forever to do it in, and she hasn't left me yet.  
  
Another night has gone by, and she's still standing, tempting the  
sun.  
  
"Come in, love, please." The tears I'm shedding clot my voice.  
  
She turns to look at me, agony in her eyes, and then gives a last  
look at the sun.  
  
She turns her back on it and comes in.  
  
She walks to me and puts her hands on my face. I steel myself,  
holding myself rigid, but all she does is wipe the tears away.  
  
"Shh. I'm here."  
  
Her voice is quiet, but it no longer holds the despair I heard  
before.  
  
I hesitate briefly and stammer, "B--"  
  
Her eyes are accepting and seem to have softened in color.  
  
I try again, "Buffy?"  
  
She nods.  
  
"William," she says.  
  
Maybe, maybe I won't have to wait forever.  
  
End.  
  
A/N: There is a last part, but I think it goes beyond the   
bounds of an R rating, so if you're interested check out my  
website. 


End file.
